Completely Contrived OneShot 13: Siblings
by Loafer
Summary: Lassiet. DO NOT READ if you can't tolerate Lassiet. This one-shot in my Contrived series explores how Carlton & Juliet think other people think they think of each other (and yes, that is what I meant to type) (I think).


**Completely Contrived OneShot 13: Siblings**

 **Disclaimer** : do you know how many times I had to retype the word "disclaimer"?  
 **Rating** : T  
 **Summary** : LASSIET. Okay, _that's_ out of the way. No Shules, no Marlowe. I return now to my Completely Contrived OneShot series to tackle the issue of how some folks see the relationship between Juliet and Lassiter. Even before I became a Lassieteer, I never saw them as siblings, and once I went to the dark side, it became impossible to understand how anyone else would think of them that way. Yet I read it in the non-Lassiets from time to time, and this is my response.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

"Sooooooo... how's it going, Big Bro?"

Carlton gave him one quick glance before returning his attention to his screen. "Go away, Spencer."

"Business as usual, then." Spencer plopped into the chair next to his desk. "Where's my sweet Jules?"

"I don't know anyone by that name, and I believe I've already told you to go away."

"Come on, Big Bro, I'm just lookin' for love."

"And as usual, in all the wrong places." He spared him another glance. "Where's your visitor badge?"

"Wolverines got it." He yawned. "Where's Ju— _Detective_ _O'Hara_?"

"You lack either a visitor's badge or a press ID, you haven't been hired for any cases, you're not a witness in a crime or, at the moment, a suspect, and regrettably you're not wearing handcuffs, so I don't believe there's any particular reason for me to answer your question. Also, I'm pretty sure I told you to go away." He got up, heading for the filing cabinet.

"Big Bro, don't be a Big No. Just give me a hint and I'll get out of your much-less-fine-than-mine hair."

Carlton snapped, "Stop calling me that, and get lost." He bellowed for McNab, and Spencer hurriedly got to his feet.

McNab appeared rapidly and knew by Carlton's look alone that he was meant to escort Spencer out of the building, but the gel-head eluded his first attempt at a grab. "Big Bro is stone-walling me, Buzz. I just need to talk to Jules for a minute, and then I swear I'm outta here."

"She went down to the Records Room," McNab said helpfully, and Carlton glared at him. "Um, where you're not allowed."

"Find out how he keeps getting past Checkin without a visitor badge— _after_ you throw him out." He tossed a file on the desk, and slapped at Spencer's hand when he reached for it. "Not for you, Spencer."

"Meaning there's a file that _is_ for me? Let's have it. Baby needs a new pair of churros."

"Out." He pointed, and McNab captured Spencer's arm firmly.

"But Big Bro—you're standing in the way of love!" His voice got fainter as he was marched down the hall.

Carlton shook his head. 'Big Bro' wasn't much of an improvement over 'Lassie.'

From the opposite direction he spotted Juliet approaching with a stack of files; she looked up and smiled at him. "Hey, I found the stuff on Bowman and Reza."

"You just missed Spencer pining for you." He watched her lovely face carefully but she didn't look particularly disappointed; in fact she set the folders down and started showing him some of the arrest reports.

Good enough for him. Spencer had been sniffing around long enough, and every day Juliet didn't give in to his dubious charms was a day Carlton counted as Very Good Indeed.

Not that he had any chance—or would take any chance—with Juliet himself. Even if he could get past the barrier of their partnership and risk losing even more credibility than he had with Lucinda Barry, and worse, risk _Juliet_ losing credibility because of him, she was hardly likely to take an interest in his cranky person.

He was grateful for their bond in the field, for how they worked together, for how she tempered his rougher edges and made him a better cop. He was lucky to have her in his life and count her as a friend. Anything else was for late-night dreaming.

Didn't mean he wanted Spencer moving in for the kill, though. Nuts to _that_.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet walked between Shawn and Gus at the fair, listening to the two of them bickering about corn dogs and types of sauces to dip them in, but as they talked across her—creating a disturbing air current comprised of corn dog breath and eau d'pork rinds—she began to feel a little ill.

Pretending to take an interest in a large stuffed bear at the shooting gallery, she stepped to the left and into blessedly fresher air, intending to rejoin them at the side rather than in the middle.

But Shawn, who'd talked her into accompanying them on her Saturday off with a promise of entertaining her wildly (and which she accepted only because it had been a hard week at work and everyone needs a carnival now and then), spotted her trajectory and exclaimed, "Yes! Now it's on!"

"Now what's on?"

"Now, Jules, we find out what Little Sister can do."

She eyed him. So did Gus. "I'm kind of a good shot, Shawn."

"So am I. Even if Dad hadn't taught me everything I know about aim, Gus and I did spend our formative years in the arcade."

"You know that's right. Donkey Kong was my world."

"Then you two compete," she suggested, refusing to take the bucket of pork rinds.

"Come on, Jules. Didn't you hear me say it's on? You can't just walk away from 'it's on.' You have to see it through."

"But I didn't challenge you. All I did was come over to look at the fuzzy purple bear."

"Now, Jules. What would Lassie say?"

She was at a loss. "About what, after he told you not to call him Lassie?"

"About his second favorite little sister refusing to defend her honor as a gun-slinging officer of the law."

 _Little sister?_ Juliet put that aside and shook her head. "I think he'd say you were an idiot, or worse, and to leave me alone on my day off."

Shawn tried to sound like Carlton, gruffly muttering that she was no sister of his if she refused to put up or shut up.

"That's fine by me. He's already got a sister." Rising above the urge to debate this, she flashed him a smile. "You and Gus compete. I'll buy the winner a funnel cake."

Gus' eyes got big. "You hear that!" In a matter of seconds he'd paid the attendant for a wad of tickets.

Shawn gave in, but Juliet still refused to hold the bucket of pork rinds.

As they took their turns, each trying to jinx the other, her mind wandered to the 'little sister' references. Where had that come from?

And why did it feel wrong?

Of all the things Carlton had been to her over the years—partner, friend, teacher, aggravator—she'd never felt like a sibling. She _had_ big brothers, plenty of them. Carlton was…

Well, Carlton was a man. A vital, attractive, gloriously-blue-eyed and energy-charged _man_. Off-limits, to be sure, but there was nothing sisterly about her feelings for him.

Not that she was willing to explore exactly what those feelings _were_.

"Off-limits" came to mind again, in fact, with a speed indicating that _continuing_ to not explore those feelings was a very good idea.

The boys—er, _men_ , she mentally amended—finished up with a rousing argument over whether Gus' clear win was in fact a win or a mirage, with Shawn insisting he'd been blinded by the glint in the left-most duck's eye.

Gus told him to suck it, and strode up to Juliet. "I'll take that funnel cake now, Juliet."

"Rematch," Shawn insisted. "Jules, how about you? Come on."

"No, because you've been humiliated enough and I can't make it worse."

"Awww, man! Do it for Lassie. Be the good sister."

She felt impatience. "Shawn, what's this sister stuff?"

He blinked guilelessly. "Well, Lassie calls you that."

"No he doesn't."

"Sure he does."

Gus frowned. "I never heard him say that."

"I have. Lots of times. Maybe he never says it around you because he doesn't want to show his sentimental side."

Gus snorted.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Like he'd show his sentimental side to _you_? Knowing you'd mock it?"

(And Carlton had shown _her_ his sentimental side more than once. She knew damned well he trusted her more than anyone else and had told her things about his life that no one else knew.)

"The mockery is love, Jules." He smiled innocently. "Anyway, it's cute. You _are_ like brother and sister. A little squabbling, a little hero worship—both sides—it's cute."

 _Cute_. She stared at him in utter puzzlement, and yet, for Shawn, he seemed genuinely sincere.

Clearing his throat delicately, Gus reminded her about funnel cake, and Juliet decided to let it go. It was her day off, and engaging in a circular 'discussion' with these two was not the way to spend it.

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

Carlton poured a cup of coffee—only his third one this morning—and steeled himself for the onslaught of Spencer & Guster as they sashayed down the main hall. Spencer was whistling, Guster was snapping his fingers, and Carlton's head was already pounding.

He stepped smoothly into their path. " _America's Got Talent_ is holding auditions next month. You should go for it."

Gus bobbed his head, still snapping. "You know that's right."

"I'm serious," Carlton persisted. "You two are very talented. You should try to go national." They _were_ talented, he thought, sort of; they just lacked discipline, training, stamina, wardrobe sense and common sense.

Guster was buying it, but Spencer wasn't. "Big Bro, we already went all out for _American Duos_ , and they were completely not ready for an act of our magnitude. Despite your advancing years, I know you remember."

"You were up against Nigel St. Butthead, he hates everyone, and I told you to stop calling me that."

Spencer was exasperated. "What am I supposed to call you if I can't call you what other people call you?"

"How about Detective Lassiter?" he shot back. "Or _Sir_?"

He seemed to consider it. "Nah. I'd rather use Jules' name for you. It softens your jaggedy bits, Lass. Plus if anyone knows big brothers, she does."

Carlton controlled the urge to thump him.

Guster had his own agenda. "Where are the auditions being held?"

"Cleveland, and seriously, Spencer, knock it off."

One glared, the other laughed. "What's the problem? You afraid Lauren'll be jealous if she thinks Jules is competing for her spot as favorite sibling?"

Instantly distracted, Guster sighed. "Lauren… mmm, mmm, mmmmm…."

Carlton took a breath, and could only blame himself for engaging them in the first place. "Guster, you're a pervert. Spencer, you're an ass. McNab!" he roared, and both of them jumped back a step. "How did Spencer get in here again without a visitor badge?"

McNab rushed up and didn't waste time apologizing; he took Spencer's arm and dutifully tugged him away.

Patting his badge with pride, Guster sauntered out behind the other men, leaving Carlton to berate himself once more for speaking to them at all. Children. They were children.

But he was an idiot, because damn him, he was starting to wonder if maybe it was possible Juliet really did see him as a brother.

Because that _bit_.

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

"What are you doing, Shawn?"

Shawn looked at Gus and then back at his taco. "Eating a very fine taco from Tasmanian Tony's Taco Town?"

"No, I mean what are you doing with this sister and brother stuff?"

A slow and sneaky smile was what he got in response before Shawn bit into the taco.

"You know Lassiter doesn't think of her as a sister."

"I know." _Crunch_.

"And you know Juliet doesn't think of him as a brother."

"I know." _Crunch_.

"And you know men and women can be friends and partners without being interested in each other or feeling like siblings."

"I know." _Crunch_.

"Come on, son."

All Gus got was another slow and sneaky smile before Shawn started in on the next taco.

But he knew it was one of two scenarios. The most convoluted scenario was the most unlikely one: that he wanted Juliet and Lassiter to get together. The simplest and most likely scenario was that he wanted each to think the other was permanently _un_ interested, leaving the playing field clear for him.

He ate his own taco, puzzling out his friend's motives. One thing he knew for sure: Shawn never did anything the simple way.

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

Juliet turned in her chair to open her file drawer, and took the opportunity to steal a glance at her partner over at his desk. He was studying the data on his computer screen, and ran a restless long-fingered hand through his silver-tinged black hair.

Briefly he closed his expressive eyes, as if puzzling out a problem, and she looked fully at him, not arguing with the voice in her head which said _he is very attractive, and I don't want him to think of me as a sister_.

She knew he _didn't_. She had memories as proof.

His discomfiture at being caught, years ago, correcting the boy about her shampoo scent.

The way he'd been flummoxed at her appearance during her brief "I am a woman and I am choosing to dress like one" phase (which lasted until her budget laughed her senseless, not to mention until the first perp ripped a sleeve right off her new haute couture).

Yes, flummoxed. The look he gave her—even the look she _felt_ as she walked away from him as he stood stunned in the hallway—that was not a brotherly look. That was a _damn, you're fine_ look.

And the way he'd talked to her about Scott Seaver. She knew how her brothers would have talked to her, pro or con. Carlton had been a friend, a friend admittedly embittered by his own romantic battle scars, but at no point had he seemed like a brother.

And the way he held her on the clock tower.

Juliet felt her heart skitter a bit. At the time she'd been engulfed in fear and relief and post-traumatic terror, but his arms around her in the cool dawn were as much of a life-saver as that he'd stopped the clock for her in first place. That he'd ignored a direct order from Chief Vick to save her.

A brother would do that, yes. It was true.

But… it wasn't that way for him.

Was it?

Juliet realized he was looking at her now, crystal blue eyes quizzical, and she shook her head, thumbing through the folders as if she'd merely gotten distracted.

What if enough time had passed—time she'd spent letting Shawn get closer—for Carlton's simple male awareness of her to have faded? What if he'd… gotten _used_ to her?

Truth was, Shawn and Gus were more like brothers to her now. They were such a unified front themselves, so intrinsically joined at the hip, that being with them was like tagging along in the sister role, watching the show they always put on, breaking up the squabbles when necessary.

Once upon a time she'd been attracted to Shawn, when the job was still new and intense and she and Carlton weren't fully in sync, and she needed the bright spot he provided. Shawn could be so very _very_ charming when he set his mind to it, and she was able to look past his innate irresponsibility and narcissism to what seemed like a pretty nice guy paying her some much-needed attention.

But she grew up. She was older than Shawn now, she reflected. She'd grown up but he was still stuck in the eighties.

Now she knew what she wanted.

Now she knew that even if there was no way to _ever_ get around the partnership barrier, she most definitely did not want Carlton Lassiter to see her as his damned _sister_.

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

They were searching the building for Bowman; Reza had already been caught, just after he cut the power to the place and plunged them all into darkness.

There were few windows, and their flashlights seemed ineffective as they searched hall by hall, room by room, for the skulking Bowman.

Other units were above and below, and supposedly this floor had been cleared, but Carlton had a feeling they'd missed something.

Juliet was close behind him, and if she didn't have the same feeling, she'd say so.

 _Now there's a funny turn of mental phrase_ … having the same feeling. _Not_ having the same feeling.

She'd been a little curt toward him the past few days and he didn't know why, but because he was still unsettled by the whole "Big Bro" thing, he'd been just as curt right back.

Plus, Spencer had been around again—smirking as he eluded McNab until he was collared firmly by Sgt. Allen, who escorted him out muttering about her late grandmother and how the crystals were telling her that keeping her job was more important than letting him have the run of the place.

But before Spencer ended up in the parking lot, he tossed off a comment about Juliet having mentioned _just the other night_ that Carlton was like a big protective brother and she treasured him as much as if they shared the same bloodline.

 _Pah_.

Hearing an noise ahead he stopped suddenly, and Juliet stumbled against him. "On the left," he whispered. "Maybe three doors down."

She started to slide past him and he held her back, earning a glare. "What? I'll check it out."

It seemed unusually…challenging. As if she thought he doubted her abilities.

 _The hell?_

He dropped his arm to let her move, listening to the silence ahead of them.

Juliet went ahead, keeping to the wall, all professionalism and caution as he expected, and the silence continued.

He was right behind her when she hissed, "Stop crowding me! I know what I'm doing!"

"What'd I do?" he protested. "Just go!"

Glaring at him—couldn't miss that in the dim light—she went on, but whatever noise had prickled at his senses had stopped. The place seemed deserted.

Carlton could hear her breathing and smell her hair, he was so close, but this was not a time to imagine other scenarios where they'd be close together in the dark… _mental head-slap_.

Something small scurried out of the room ahead and they both jumped back; Juliet damn near shot the thing until he grabbed at her arm.

She rounded on him. "What is it with you? Stop acting like I can't do my job!"

"What the hell are you talking about? You were about to shoot a rat!"

"Like I haven't had to stop _you_ from doing that before!"

He holstered his weapon, no longer believing Bowman was on this floor at all. "Beside the point, O'Hara, and incidentally, why are you so touchy today?"

"Touchy? I'm touchy? You've gone into some sort of uber-protective mode, like I'm too fragile to do what I'm trained to do!"

"What in the _hell_ are you talking about?" he snapped with genuine consternation, and starting to get pissed off.

"Stopping me from checking out the room. Crowding me just now. Acting like I'm some newbie."

Carlton stared at her, totally unable to see where this ire was coming from. He knew damned well he hadn't done anything different today, or anything to suggest he didn't trust her abilities. And honestly, the only reason he'd stopped her shooting the rat was to save the bullet.

Her beautiful eyes showed her anger; she was ready to smack him and he hadn't even _done_ anything.

She went on acidly, "Like I'm your little sister."

 _Ohhhhhh_ …. pieces started to tumble in the jigsaw box.

"My sister," he repeated.

"Maybe you forgot I'm your partner first. You trained me to be as good as I am, so why you suddenly feel like you have to go into brother mode, I don't know."

"Brother mode," he repeated.

"Stop repeating what I say! Did you do that with Lauren?"

"O'Hara," he began slowly, trying to get through the mix in his head. "First, when did this argument start?"

She frowned, and shoved a curl of hair behind her ear. "What?"

"Did it start five minutes ago when you irrationally decided I was your enemy?"

"I didn't—"

"Or did it start when you woke up this morning?"

She let out a breath. "Are you seriously about to insinuate that I've got PMS?"

"No, I'm asking how long you've had this grudge."

"It's not a grudge, Carlton! I just don't want you to forget I'm your partner. You're not my—" She stopped suddenly.

He understood now; the puzzle was complete. Spencer had been "little sistering" her while "big brothering" him. He wasn't sure why, but with Spencer anything was possible.

He did know this: he couldn't afford to have this kind of issue between them. The job was hard enough by itself.

"Whatever Spencer said to you, he's full of crap."

Juliet drew back.

"I've been a lot things over the years, O'Hara. When you were new and I had my own issues, I was condescending and arrogant because I was trying to re-prove myself and it didn't have much to do with you. I'm a hardass by nature and an insensitive clod most every day of the week but I have never treated you like you didn't know how to do your job, and for damn sure I've never forgotten you're my partner. Or my friend. And I never for one stinking second thought of you as…"

He stopped. Juliet was hardly breathing. And she was so frickin' beautiful.

 _Screw it all to Butte and back._

Closing the gap between them, he cupped her face—brushing her soft skin—and kissed her.

Juliet gasped but didn't jerk free and he continued, slowly but firmly kissing her, tasting her lips and sliding his fingers into her hair. When her response was to open her mouth and kiss him back, he moved his arms to embrace her, holding her slim warm body tightly against his. His heart was thundering.

Her breath was fast and she was so impossibly soft and… delicious… and _responsive_ …

Carlton let her go and stepped back, shoving his hand through his own hair, trying to get a grip on himself. "You want my sister's phone number? You can ask if I ever kissed _her_ like that."

Juliet—stunned—stood silent and trembling before him.

He could take her right now, against the wall, and die _complete_.

"We're done here." He strode down the hall.

"We're not!" She was right behind him, and it was a command.

Stopping under an EXIT sign, he turned to face Juliet. She didn't look as if she wanted to shoot him, but she did look anxious.

And kissable. Dammit.

"What?" Because he'd hoped to delay the You Really Shouldn't Have Done That And Maybe We Should Get New Partners speech until they were in the car.

"Shawn said you'd been referring to me as…" She trailed off, uncertain.

"Uh-huh. He said you called _me_ your big brother."

Dark blue eyes wide as her own puzzle pieces started shifting. "But I never…"

"O'Hara, if Spencer turned up right now and said we were standing in a dark hallway, I'd still have to check it out for myself."

"You'd do that if it were the Pope," she said impatiently. "Shawn's not the total liar you think he is."

Carlton sighed. "Are we talking about gel-head or us?"

"Us?"

He felt an immediate blush which he was incredibly glad she couldn't see.

She was smiling.

"Just get on with it, O'Hara. Get on with the speech. The speech about boundaries and lines being crossed and the importance of partnerships and how men and women have to be careful when they—" He stopped, because he couldn't talk with her mouth pressed to his, and he couldn't breathe with her arms around him so tightly, and he couldn't think while she was kissing him so very spectacularly well.

"I have nothing to say about any of that," she whispered against his lips.

He slid his hands down to her hips and drew her even closer, his brain telling him he'd lost all communication with Houston and his heart telling him Houston was overrated.

The tantalizing tip of her tongue tracing his mouth broke him completely: he turned her so he could press her to the wall, and she wrapped around him as if that was exactly where she wanted to be.

It was certainly where _he_ wanted to be, lacking a nearby bedroom.

Fast breathing, wandering hands, hungry mouths: _completely unprofessional, you could get caught_ … _who cares, keep kissing her, keep touching her_ … _dear God, where are those fingertips going now_ … _holy crap…_

"Carlton," she said raggedly against his ear, arching against his body when his hands cupped her ass. "I think we agree on this."

"Spencer's an idiot?" He heard how out of breath he was, how… desperate to have her.

"Yeah." She kissed his throat, and one of them purred.

"You're convinced now I don't see you as a sister?"

"Almost."

"Almost?" He pushed against her meaningfully.

She pushed back, undulating him into wanting her even more. "Tonight after work you can explain it in greater detail."

He resolved to clear his schedule for the foreseeable future.

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

"So what did you accomplish, Shawn?"

They were sitting on the bench outside Psych, snacking on churros, pineapple smoothies, empanadas and pizza rolls before a run down to Harvey's House of Ham Heaven for lunch.

Shawn gave him a blank look.

"With Lassiter and O'Hara," Gus elucidated. "All that brother and sister business and now they're lovers?"

Shawn _tsk_ ed. "Don't say it like that."

"What, lovers? They're getting married, Shawn, and Chief Vick's letting them remain partners."

"Cool, huh?"

"Is that what you really wanted?"

Shrugging, Shawn finished off the last empanada. "I always liked Jules, you know that, but it doesn't take a genius to see she and Lassie had a thing. Some kind of connection no one else could understand."

"Kinda like us," Gus suggested.

"Yeah. So if anybody was going to get anywhere with anybody else, I had to stir the pot."

"Well, you didn't _have_ to stir the pot."

"Someone had to stir the pot, Gus. The pot always needs stirring."

"You don't always have to be the one wielding the spoon, is what I'm saying."

"That's fair." He slurped from his smoothie, and frowned as Gus took the last pizza roll. "But it's all good now. They're together, we're together, and I've always got Gina on speed dial."

"You might want to rephrase that."

Shawn grinned. "But we _are_ together."

Gus slid a little further down the bench. "Not that way, Shawn."

Shawn slid closer. "Haven't you ever wondered?"

Gus stood up. "No. You're like a _brother_ to me, Shawn. Now knock it off and let's go get lunch."

They disposed of their trash and headed down the boardwalk, and _if_ Shawn sang softly "we are family… I've got all my sisters with me…" … and _if_ Gus joined in on harmony… it was all good.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

 **E N D**

 **P.S. Happy birthday, birthday person.**


End file.
